People Who You Do Not Want on Your Next Fishing Trip

A Sunday in Family-Angling in River, by Eugene Guerrard

Angling by Gustave Caillebotte

Source

Angry fisherman (maybe "Ol' Roy)

Source

Three generations of fishermen

Source

Abusing alcohol and fishing do not mix

Source

Fly fishing: a great way to spend a Saturday

Source

Anyone up for fishing?

I want to discuss fishing trips. I am safe in this, for it is spring time again. And the fishermen, like locusts on a rampage, have already started flocking to lakes, rivers, creeks and any body of water that may support fish life.

I am not into fishing. Never have been. This is not anyone’s mental-block but my own. I simply cannot make any sense (unless it is for food) of waking at 3 a.m., piling into a pickup-truck with three other sleepy guys who will not admit that they love sleep, and be at a certain place near a lake or river to “just” catch, if possible, decent-size fish, look at them, grin, and thrown them back.

Yes, my liberal-hearted friends, I am for Catch and Release. I am not for abusing any form of wildlife “just” for the sport of it. The jerks that do this need to be severely-sentenced to lengthy jail sentences. But oh, the escape route named the “misdemeanor,” how I loathe this notion that was used in early southern courtrooms to get “law breaking bigot buddies,” sentenced to a less or no sentence at all.

And while I am busy loathing this wrinkle in the law, piles of fish, deer, quail and other precious forms of wildlife lay rotting in some forgotten place that “Roy,” the neighborhood outdoorsman who loves to take his buddies on manly-outings that bend the law, and allow package stores to profit from their beer purchases.

Incidentally, “Roy” has been divorced three times.

Early fishing trips were in actuality, rouses that men would use for ironclad-excuses for:

Steamy affairs with women in far-away towns.

Getting “ripped” and partying all-night long with old college buds with girls who could pass for their daughters.

Fishing or hunting illegally just for the “sport” of it.

These reasons are probable, possible, and did happen.

Husband: “Honey, the guys and I are hitting the lake Friday night for the weekend—got to get in practice for the upcoming fishing tournament in two weeks. Here is $300.00 for you to go shopping with “Bobbi.”

Wife: “Oh, well. I guess “Bobbi” and I will make it until you guys get back. Have fun.”

Questions: Was this slick-work by the husband or what? And why didn’t the wife instantly scream and yell, “Bloody murder,” because she knew in her heart that he wasn’t going fishing? Was it the $300.00 bucks in cold cash that pacified her?

I don’t have time to play Perry Mason, so could you solve this one for me?

___________________________

You are going to be shocked and surprised at the ending of this story!

___________________________

French - English fishermen brawling in a channel

Source

Man fishing in Hawaii

Source

Karma vs "Roy"

Now enter karma. You know, that little-but-formidable force that hides from the naked-eye in the infinite-confines of the universe that literally “bites liars, adulterers, and abusive-sportsmen like “Roy,” in the butt,” at just the right time.

One fine day in June, “Roy” decides he needs a change in fishing buddies. The buddies he has treated to illegal-hunts and fishing are now boring and nerve-bending. So to the local bar he trots in khaki shorts, flip-flops, and Hawaiian shirt stained with vomit, to recruit new manly-men who are up for some illegal fun with a firearm and fishing rod.

After good ol’ “Roy,” spends a few hundred buying beer and liquor for a band of new manly-men, who he “thinks,” are the type of men he can live like a college boy on weekends, he is ready.

So long to: “Mike,” the insurance broker; “Tom,” a car dealer,” and “Johnny,” a high school science teacher. “Roy” isn’t a man of emotions. He tells his pretty-but-gullible wife of three weeks, that, as he tells her late one night, “I dunno what happened. My mama must’ive dropped me on muh head, for all of my life, I have been like pure steel—not scared of anything, not even God, and I just can’t blubber like girls when I gets sad.”

You do know that I did say that karma bites liars in the butts as well as the other filth that I listed.

In short, “Roy,” meets his manly-men, “Devil,” “Jack Knife,” and “Diamond Back,” three weekend troublemakers who are full of crap as well as living without the support of a backbone. And they set-off for an entire weekend of boozing, drugs, using women like toilet paper, and plenty of illegal hunting with firearms that are not registered. A perfect weekend made for our friend, “Roy.”

The booze poured, drugs sniffed and smoked, and two deer were butchered. That was only the beginning of the way karma deceived these “men of the world.”

That first night after the booze poured, drugs were sniffed and smoked, and memories of the two innocent deer that got butchered were being talked-about, hearty-male laughter, loud and vulgar, filled the woods, more booze flowed and drugs sniffed and smoked way into early-morning before “Roy,” made his move to sneak into his tent to keep from passing-out in front of his new troublemaking men.

Snoring, belching and bellies and sounds of bellies churning filled the early-morning hours at camp where “Roy’s” men friends were all passed-out, laying in dirt, vomit and fesses, with smiles on their vile faces. “Roy,” desiring to be “the man,” stood over them and laughed. And laughed as he poured himself a glass of Johnny Walker straight.

Soon, the three men with giant heads awoke to see a blurry-sight: “Roy,” sitting spread-legged on the ground grinning like a hungry crocodile.

“Men,” “Roy” bellowed on-purpose. “We got some fun to have today! We gonna catch fish and kill anything that moves—and all without licenses!” he added swigging-down the Johnny Walker to the amazement of the zombied-buddies.

Before the men could get good and alive, karma struck. And struck hard, fast, and precise. A hungry mama Grizzly smelled the ham that one of the men, “Devil,” had stolen from his mother-in-law, “Bessie’s,” refrigerator, and proceeded to help herself while “Devil,” screamed like a little girl seeing her first bullfrog.

“Jack Knife,” and “Diamond Back,” to “Roy’s” shame, tried to run away, but their booze-reddened eyes bulged as they viewed six “real” bikers who just happened to be camping over the next ridge, resting from a long night’s ride.

“Roy,” did open his smelly-mouth to try and negotiate a peace-agreement, but the six bikers were in no mood for tongue-wagging. “Roy,” “Jack Knife,” “Diamond Back,” and good ol’ “Devil,” hit the ground as in the manner of cotton bales being unloaded from barge to steamboat by angry southern laborers who dreamed of one day being free.

With the work being done and vengeance served, karma silently drifted back home to the universe.

You see. “Roy,” who was never accused of being bright, never took the time to really and thoroughly think about his new crew of burly, unshaven, wind-breaking and trouble-loving men who thought dropping out of school was considered an extra-curricular activity.

If “Roy,” had read, no, sorry. He never learned to read, but if he had asked someone to read this hub, “People You Do Not Want on Your Fishing Trip,” he might be a happy bully today.

The list is like living organisms of pure trouble on two legs just waiting to ruin what might have been “the” greatest and most-successful fishing trips in your entire life.

How to fish

"People You Do Not Want on Your Next Fishing Trip"

Chronic grumblers – always mouthing-off at any little thing, my line is too short, my this and my that. You cannot focus on “catching the big one,” with these annoyances in the way.

Constant yakkers – even after you politely tell them to “whisper if you must talk,” and they still yak up a storm, you will not invite them on your next fishing trip. That is for sure.

People who ask too many questions – and these are good fishermen too. They just have a tendency to irritate you and the fishermen who “are” interested in catching fish and not knowing their genus.

Strong-arm rockers – and I am not talking about Bret Michaels of Poison. But men, grown men who are still living their teen’s in challenging every man on the fishing trip to beat him throwing rocks across the lake. Rocks thrown in the water scare fish. What about this statement do you not understand?

Lively drunks – who only come along on the fishing trip for free booze. Oh, they can catch fish when sober, and they even tell you when invited, “I am a new man. Clean and sober,” but an hour into the fishing, “Lively Drunk,” is smashed, dancing a jig in his underwear throwing empty beer bottles in the water.

You advise your other men friends: “If he passes out and falls into the lake, do not go in after him.”

Mr. Feeder – and this is not a species of fish, but a person who never gets enough to eat. While watching their line bob up and down (sign that a fish is biting), they eat all of the lunch packed for everyone and when scolded, they sit in the SUV with windows down playing the CD player wide-open.

The Boring Joker – thinks his stale jokes are funny. And he tells them over and over. Finally you say, “Would someone please laugh, so this comedian will get outta my face so I can fish!”

The Storyteller – is always reliving his “glory days,” in high school and college about how he caught the winning touchdown pass with three seconds left. Or the worn-out story about how “he” shot the winning basket from halfway of the court. Oh, you were there on these teams, but you are never mentioned.

Tobacco Worm – this guy is a terrific person, but when they sit above you on the lake side fishing, they try your last nerve for their love of tobacco. Not smoking, but chewing and spitting on cue like a fine German-made clock. Chew, chew, spit, spit spit. How long could “you” stand this?

Lover man – is the married man who has not let it sink-in that he is legally-married to his wife. But he has the “hots” for your wife. He asks what she was wearing when you left today. What she looks like asleep. Or does she wear perfume at home. Guess who is not coming on the next fishing trip?

Mr. Full-of-Himself – is just as worrisome as the guy reliving his jock days, but this guy is always the hero of all of his stories. He has never failed at anything, but cannot explain why he has lost five good jobs. The capper is when he brags, “Hey, boys, at noon, let’s head to the Red Lobster we passed back a ways. Lunch is on me.” And when you and “Mr. Full-of-Himself,” and three other guys who give you fits, finish a great lunch, he suddenly remembers that he left his credit card at home. You, my friend, are stuck with a bill for over $220-dollars plus tip.

Mr. Sleep-Ez – is not that bad, but he is something to be concerned about. He has no habits to speak of and does not talk to scare the fish, but he cannot stay awake. You have to “fish him out” of the lake five different times before you call it a day.

Before your next fishing trip, ask yourself this one question: “Do you want to be a successful fisherman or do you want to live a sane life?”

Comments 2 comments

I'd be Sleep-Ez because I'd be so bored I wouldn't be able to stay awake. Well, at least until whoever I'm with ends up doing something stupid like getting the hook stuck in their finger. Then I'd be laughing so hard I'd fall out of the boat.

kenneth avery 2 years ago from Hamilton, Alabama Author

Hi, sheilamyers,

I love your dark side. I was thinking maybe a crow landed on the boring person and started pecking him in the head thinking there was a redworm there.

Oh, the adventures you and I could have if we had the means, money, and fast car.